


Coming Home

by shanfawn16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-26
Updated: 2008-12-26
Packaged: 2018-10-01 01:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10177862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanfawn16/pseuds/shanfawn16
Summary: Harry's having trouble moving on after the end of the war. He learns that he's not alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

****

Coming Home

**  
_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._  
**

Harry sat in the dingy sitting room of his lonely house, staring at the same four walls that he stared at day after day after day. Kreacher had cleaned the house when they moved back into the dilapidated wreck, but it never seemed to brighten or lose its desperate feel. He sighed heavily, once again enumerating the ways he hated his life. 

It had been six months since the final battle at Hogwarts. Six months since the prophecy came to fruition. Six months since he saw both enemy and friend die before his eyes.

Six bloody months.

He had become a virtual prisoner inside his own home. It was only the newly administered Fidelius charm placed upon the large, gloomy house that kept the masses at bay. Mr. Weasley had been kind enough to agree to be Secret Keeper for him after several long and drawn out arguments with his friends and Mrs. Weasley. 

He was so very grateful to his friends and adoptive family for the offer to let him move into the Burrow, but the thought of staying with all of those people made him feel too closed in. Just the thought of being caught up in the chaos of all those people…even though he cared tremendously for them…made him feel claustrophobic. 

The few times he had allowed himself the luxury of imagining a life after Voldemort, he had pictured peace and calm and happiness. He had thought that defeating the bastard would enable him to finally be truly free to do whatever he wanted. 

He had deluded himself.

He couldn’t go anywhere in public without being swamped by huge groups of people, pressing against him and crowding him. It seemed that what little regard people had previously held for his privacy had completely evaporated after Voldemort was defeated. Before he had renewed the Fidelius charm on Grimauld Place, crowds would assemble outside his door, all hoping for a glimpse of the “Chosen One”. 

Harry had never enjoyed being the center of attention. He, of course, had known that he would be thrust into the limelight yet again once the battle was over, but he had never imagined it would have been this horrible.

The worst part was the way that he was treated by even those who knew him. He had to endure doe-eyes and swooning from people with whom he had once attended classes and near adulation from some who had barely tolerated him in the past. Even Ron and Hermione seemed to be a bit in awe of him after he had described the events that took place in the forest leading up to the ultimate defeat of Voldemort.

The only respite he had found was in locking himself away in Grimauld Place. Everyone expected him to play the jolly hero and walk around as though he were Gilderoy Lockhart, or something. No one seemed to understand that he didn’t want any of the fame or accolades. 

It had been nearly a month since anyone had bothered visiting him. He felt slightly guilty at the cold and indifferent way he had been treating his friends, but they just didn’t understand. Ron still walked about with a puffed up chest, loving every bit of fame he had garnered from his part in the battle. Hermione used every opportunity available from the continued press coverage to “educate the masses” about her latest campaigns for equal treatment of various magical creatures. Ginny…well, he just couldn’t give her the happy ending that she ultimately wanted.

Harry was happy for his friends and the way they were embracing this new Voldemort-free world, but he just couldn’t seem to allow himself to move on.

It was as he was contemplating the sad state of his life that he was surprised by the doorbell chiming. He looked up in confusion, trying to remember when the last time was that he had heard it. Harry walked down the stairs, pausing only momentarily to enjoy the silence in the hallway since Kreacher had managed to remove the old portrait of Mrs. Black. 

Harry cast a Revealing spell to see who had bothered to come and visit him, and was surprised to see Neville Longbottom standing on the front stoop. Opening the door, he was taken aback by the sudden feeling of happiness at seeing this unexpected visitor.

“Neville,” Harry said with a smile, stepping back to admit him. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Neville grinned sheepishly, taking Harry’s hand and shaking it in greeting. “I hope you don’t mind me just dropping in.”

“Of course not, but how did you even find the place?” Harry asked.

“Well, it took a bit of convincing, but with Ron and Hermione’s help, Mr. Weasley finally gave in and gave me this,” Neville answered, handing over a small, wrinkled piece of parchment. Harry accepted it and saw Mr. Weasley’s cramped writing.

_Harry Potter can be found at number twelve, Grimauld Place._

“You aren’t mad, are you?” Neville asked nervously.

“Of course not, Neville,” Harry replied as he cast a quick Incineration spell at the parchment. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know before where to find me.”

“No worries. I know how crazy it’s been for you.”

Harry smiled at Neville’s predictability. He never was one to cast blame. 

“Come on down to the kitchen and we can have a cuppa, yeah?” Harry suggested, leading the way.

Once they were settled in their chairs with cups of steaming tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits in front of them, Harry took a moment to realize how much he had missed Neville’s even-keeled, undemanding friendship. 

“So, what have you been up to, Neville?” Harry asked, picking up a biscuit and crunching into it.

“I’ve been quite busy, actually. Got a small taste of what you’ve been subjected to for so long.”

Harry looked at him quizzically before asking, “What’s that?”

“Well, seems that once you vanished from sight, the public was hungry for more of the ‘Heroes of Hogwarts’. Someone felt it was necessary to regale the press with my ‘tireless efforts to thwart the usurpers who had invaded the hallowed halls of the world’s greatest wizarding school’.” 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh as Neville emphasized his statements with finger-made quotation marks and a significant roll of his eyes.

“Sorry about that, mate,” Harry said as he tried to dampen his chuckles. “Bit of a bitch, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again,” Neville replied with a grin. “Although, Gran seemed to enjoy it. She managed to get herself quoted a fair few times in the papers.”

“She’s just proud of you, Nev,” Harry said, pausing when he saw Neville’s face cloud over.

“Well, anyway, that’s part of the reason I’m here,” Neville said, pulling a small, leather pouch from his belt. “I’ve come to return something that belongs to you.”

Harry watched as Neville pulled on the string, opening the small pouch. He then reached his entire arm inside the obviously too-small bag, causing Harry to blink in surprise. Without pause, Neville pulled out what Harry instantly recognized as the sword of Gryffindor.

“Neville… I don’t understand,” Harry stammered, staring at the sword as Neville carefully laid it on the table before them.

“Well, Ron told me how Professor Dumbledore had wanted you to have this, so it only seemed fair that it should end up that way.”

“But…” Harry was at a loss for words. He sputtered for a moment before turning questioning eyes back to Neville.

“I wanted to give it to you sooner, but Gran was having none of it,” he said with a sad smile. “She had the ruddy thing up on the mantle, inviting people in to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over it. Full of stories of how I saved the day by pulling it out of the Sorting Hat.”

Harry was starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. “So, what changed?” he asked softly.

Neville looked down at the sword, running a gentle hand across its hilt. “Gran died last week,” he answered in a small voice. “She got hit with a few nasty hexes during the battle…bloody bat refused to leave and get to safety. The healers at St. Mungo’s did all they could, but she was never really the same.”

“Neville, I am so sorry,” Harry started only to be stopped by Neville waving away his attempts.

“Thanks, but it’s all right. It’s been tough, but I know she’s at peace now,” Neville said, keeping his eyes averted.

They fell into silence for a few moments, both thinking their own thoughts about loved ones lost. Finally, Harry knew exactly what to say.

“Take the sword, Neville.”

Neville’s head shot up and he stared at Harry in confusion. “What? But, it’s yours,” he insisted, getting up from his seat and backing away.

“No, Neville, it’s not.” At Neville’s continued confusion, Harry couldn’t help but smile. “The Sword of Gryffindor chooses to go to a worthy Gryffindor when their need is greatest. It came to me in the Chamber of Secrets, but it came to you so that you could kill Nagini. Until such time that another worthy Gryffindor should need it, I think it would look quite at home back on your mantle.”

Neville tore his eyes away from Harry’s and looked down at the sword lying innocuously on the kitchen table. Harry could tell that Neville was fighting back some very strong emotions.

“Neville,” he said softly, “your Gran was right to be proud of you and of all you accomplished. You helped save us all when you used this sword to kill that great, bloody snake. Please…take it back home where it belongs.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Neville said in little more than a whisper. “I can’t think of how to thank you for this.”

“No thanks are needed,” Harry assured him. “However, now that you know where to find me, you should come by more often. It was a really nice surprise to see you.” Harry was caught off-guard at how true his words were.

Neville looked at him appraisingly for a moment. “How long has it been since you’ve been out of this mausoleum?” he asked.

Harry snorted in laughter. “Much too long,” he admitted. “But, unless I want to start carrying around a permanent supply of Polyjuice, it’s not like I can get out.”

“Come to my place,” Neville offered. At Harry’s uncertain look, he continued quickly, “I may not be under _Fidelius_ , but I do have some pretty strong wards. In fact, I just hired a wardsmith last month to increase the protection on the grounds. You could Floo straight in and no one would ever need know you left here.”

Neville was speaking so quickly that Harry had trouble keeping up. When Harry finally finished processing what he had said, he couldn’t help but smile. Looking around at the drab kitchen, he found himself growing excited at the chance to leave his solitude for a short time.

“That sounds brilliant, Neville. When can I come?”

“How about right now?” Neville responded. “I could show you my new greenhouse and you could stay for some dinner.”

Harry looked at Neville’s hopeful face and felt a spark of excitement at the thought of getting out for a bit.

“Sounds grand,” Harry said. “Kreacher,” he called out, smiling despite himself when the ancient elf appeared with a loud crack and bowed deeply, his nose practically scraping the ground.

“What can Kreacher do for Master Potter?” he asked in his low, rumbling voice.

“Kreacher, I’ll be going over to the Longbottom estate for dinner this evening,” he informed the elf.

Kreacher lifted his head and eyed Neville, causing the young man to swallow nervously. “Kreacher knows of the Longbottom family,” he started. Harry glanced uncertainly at the elf, hoping that he wouldn’t insult his friend’s family. “It is nice to see Master Potter consorting with one of such a longstanding Pureblood line. Kreacher has been concerned about Master Potter’s brooding.”

“Er, thanks, Kreacher. Don’t wait up,” Harry said, relieved when Kreacher simply bowed again and disappeared from view.

“Your House-elf is a bit odd,” Neville said, eyeing the place where Kreacher had recently stood.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “He’s a bit of an odd duck, but he’s not so bad, once you get past his desire to have his head mounted on the wall.”

Neville looked at him in confusion for a moment before shrugging it off. “Well, shall we?”

“Absolutely,” Harry replied, following Neville into the Floo and spinning away to his home.

~~~*** ~~~***~~~

Harry was in awe as he looked around at the flourishing beauty of the large greenhouse. Neville was modest about his abilities, but Harry could see the pride in his friend’s face as he led him through the rows of well-manicured greenery. 

“It took a while, but I’ve managed some fascinating cross-breeding with some of the more magical plants I have,” Neville was explaining, pointing out some colorful purple and silver flowers. Harry leaned in to take a smell and was surprised when the bloom sniffed back. 

“It’s all so lovely, Neville,” Harry said, smiling when Neville blushed at the praise. “Have you thought about doing something with Herbology for a living? You should, you know.”

“Actually, Professor Sprout has asked if I’d like to apprentice with her once the school re-opens next fall,” he said, looking humbled. “It’s quite an honor.”

“It sure is; congratulations, Neville!” Harry said, grasping Neville’s arm. Neville blushed even brighter, whether from the words or the touch, Harry wasn’t sure. 

They spent a bit longer meandering through the aisles, Harry asking questions about the more interesting plants and Neville happily expounding on all he had accomplished. It was in the middle of Harry’s introduction to the Whispering Willow that his stomach growled loudly, surprising both men. 

“Oops,” Harry said with some embarrassment. “Sorry about that.”

Neville smiled and glanced at his watch, looking surprised at what he saw. “Oh my, it’s already half-seven. No wonder your stomach is protesting. Let’s go see about some supper, shall we?”

Harry readily agreed and happily accompanied Neville back toward the house proper, thoroughly enjoying Neville’s continued explanations about his latest greenhouse projects.

Neville’s House-elf, Tibby, was thrilled to have another wizard to feed for the evening, and showed her pleasure by heaping mounds of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roasted potatoes, and several other dishes onto the table before them. All the while, Neville excitedly expounded on everything from daylilies to mandrakes. Harry couldn’t remember Neville ever talking so much, but he found he thoroughly enjoyed his friend’s excited stories.

They filled their bellies with the delicious food, adjourning to the sitting room with their afters. Neville even broke out some brandy. “Seems like a good time to celebrate my new apprenticeship, since I’ve got the company,” he said with yet another blush.

They drank and talked long into the night. Neville told several stories about his Gran, laughing tearfully on a few occasions. The conversation moved on to other loved ones lost and Harry found that, for the first time since the end of the war, it didn’t hurt quite so much to remember. 

Harry sat back against the cushions of the couch, feeling pleasantly tipsy and drowsy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so content. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting Neville’s soft, soothing voice drift over him. He must have dozed off, however, because the next thing he knew, Neville was shaking him awake.

“Wake up, Harry,” he was saying. “I didn’t mean to bore you.”

Harry cracked his eye open and saw Neville smiling kindly down at him. “Sorry, Nev. You weren’t boring me at all. I guess the combination of good food and good brandy was a little too much for me,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. 

“No worries, Harry. If you want, you can kip over in the guest room…I mean…it wouldn’t be any trouble.” Neville looked slightly embarrassed by his offer, but seemed sincere. 

Harry knew that it would take no time at all to simply Floo back to his own home, but the day had been so enjoyable and he didn’t really want it to end. After having so much fun with Neville, the thought of returning to his dark, dreary, lonely house seemed very unpalatable. 

“If it’s really no trouble, I’d love to stay,” Harry said and was rewarded with another bright grin from his friend. He suddenly realized that perhaps Neville had been suffering with his own loneliness lately. 

Harry watched silently as Neville gave a fond, parting glance at the mantle and the sword of Gryffindor resting atop it. His heart felt a bit lighter for having made the right choice regarding its true ownership and he was buoyed by Neville’s obvious contentment at its new home. Harry hoped that seeing it there would be a daily reminder to him of some of the good times with his Gran, rather than the war-filled memories it would invariably invoke in himself.

He followed Neville through the large, stately home, feeling tired but oddly comfortable. Harry rarely slept well these days and was surprised that he had nodded off so easily. Perhaps it was being out of Grimauld Place. Perhaps it was the company. Harry wasn’t sure, but he didn’t mind the reprieve. 

Neville showed him to a guest room and called for his House-elf to bring some toiletries. Harry was impressed by the warm, comfortable room. Decorated in deep browns and greens, it reminded him of a peaceful, quiet forest. The large bed was draped in soft, thick blankets and pillows and looked entirely too inviting.

“The loo is through there,” Neville was saying, pointing to a door at the far side of the room. “And if you need anything, my room is just across the way. Or, of course, you could call for Tibby.” Neville was blushing brightly, but Harry was too knackered to wonder why. 

He yawned widely and Neville took that as his cue to leave, stammering out a quick, “Good-night,” before stumbling his way out of the door. Harry smiled at his friend’s clumsiness and quickly attended to his evening ablutions, wanting nothing more than to fall into the comfortable-looking bed and into a deep sleep.

Weariness tugging at him, he decided to forego the pyjamas that were left for him, presumably by Tibby, and crawled into bed with just his boxers, sighing as he pulled the warm blankets around his shoulders. Wrapped in warmth and with fond memories of his day, it took nearly no time at all for sleep to claim him.

*****~~~*****

_Harry stared blankly at the rows of bodies laid out before him. He tried to look away…to deny the recognition of so many of the faces, cold and lifeless. Fred…Remus…Tonks…Colin… his breath hitched and his lungs burned with the knowledge that there was something…anything he could have done to prevent this. Looking around the room, he was confronted with the palpable grief of those still alive. People he had once counted as friends and family were now eyeing him with contempt. Reaching out, trying to give and receive comfort in turn, he was met with nothing more than cold, angry stares. He could feel their blame of him for all that had happened…all the lost lives laid out like so many broken toys, cast aside by an ungrateful child. The only sound was his own ragged breathing and his painfully pounding heart._

_“I’m sorry,” he gasped, reaching out yet again, wanting…needing some sort of contact to ease the overpowering anguish rising up within him. “I tried.”_

_A high, menacing laugh rose from behind him, causing gooseflesh to rise all over his body. He wanted to turn, to face the terror he knew was waiting, but found himself frozen, unable to move. He cast pleading looks to the others in the room, but no one would meet his gaze now. Dozens of pairs of eyes looked away, refusing to give aid to the one who was responsible for the countless lives ended far too soon._

_The maniacal laughing rose in pitch and volume, its owner moving closer until Harry could feel the hot exhalations of breath across the back of his neck. Harry was gripped in absolute terror, knowing that there was no escape, no help to be found this time. He felt a cold, long-fingered hand stretch itself around his neck, and he broke. A loud scream was torn from Harry’s throat and echoed through the large room, but no one turned to see. The fingers tightened and the scream was cut off, and Harry was alone._

~~~~~***~~~~~

Harry bolted upright, his eyes wildly looking about the room as his heart hammered. He was shivering uncontrollably, although whether that was from the lingering terror of the dream or the cold, slick sweat clinging to his body, he wasn’t sure. 

The door suddenly burst open, wringing another cry from his throat. Harry sobbed in relief when he saw it was Neville. Harry, in his fear-induced, hyper-aware state, was surprised by the stark look of alertness in Neville’s eyes. His wand was out, ready to battle, despite the fact that he had been very obviously awakened suddenly.

“Are you all right?” he asked, still inspecting the room as though expecting to find some threat.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry,” Harry said, hating the way he couldn’t stop the tremor in his voice or the shaking of his hands as he ran them through his hair. “It was just a nightmare.”

Neville turned and met his eyes, finally lowering his wand. “Sounded like more than ‘just a nightmare’ to me,” he said, a knowing look in his gaze.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled.

Neville crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, his nearness helping to calm Harry a bit. He was still trembling, however, and was slightly embarrassed to be seen like this in front of his friend. Harry tried to reassure himself that Neville would never judge him, having seen the evidence of his nightmares before, but he still felt at a loss. 

“Are you still having nightmares often?” Neville asked.

Harry shrugged, not meeting Neville’s gaze. “A fair amount, I guess.”

“I dream about that day a lot,” Neville said. Harry felt a moment of gratitude for their shared history. He knew without explanation exactly what day Neville meant. “Sometimes I dream about what happened when the Carrows were in charge. Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry’s trembling increased at the thought of trying to explain the feeling of dread and hopelessness that had claimed him in his most recent dream. Neville put a comforting arm around him and pulled him close, leaning them back so that they were resting against the pillows at the head of the bed. 

“When I was small,” he said softly, “I would have nightmares about what happened to Mum and Dad. I would wake up screaming and wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Gran would come in and sit with me, kind of like this, and we would play a game until I was calm enough to fall asleep again.”

Harry slowly started to relax as Neville’s calm, soothing voice washed over him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone wrapped an arm around him like this…it was probably at one of the funerals. It made him feel safe and comforted. Some small part of his brain thought that he should be feeling embarrassed by the close contact, but he needed it too much right now to listen. He focused on Neville’s voice, instead.

“My favorite game was the Shadow Game. Gran would light a candle and we would take turns pointing out the different shadows in the room, and saying what they looked like.” Neville used his wand to light the candle on the bedside table, causing a warm glow to be cast across the bed and several shadows to pop up across the far wall and ceiling. 

“See?” Neville said, pointing up at a rounded shadow in the corner. “That one looks like the head of a crup. Now you pick one.”

Harry looked around at the shifting shadows, trying to find one that actually looked like something. He saw a curiously lumpy-looking one above the bureau. “That looks like one of Hagrid’s rock cakes,” he said, pointing it out. Neville laughed, and the vibrations against his side warmed him even more than the arm around his shoulder and the blankets across their legs. 

“Good one,” Neville said. “That one by the door looks like the Hogwarts Express.”

Harry looked to where Neville was indicating, but didn’t see anything remotely close to the scarlet steam engine. “How do you figure?”

“Well, if you tilt your head and squint a bit, you can make out the smoke stack. And there,” he said, gesturing downwards, “you can see the wheels.”

Harry laughed, the last remnants of his nightmare slipping away. “I still don’t see it.”

“Oh well, I guess I just have a more artistic eye,” Neville said jokingly. “Want to try again, or are you feeling better?”

“I don’t think I’m very good at this game,” Harry admitted. “I am feeling better, though. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m glad I could help.”

“You really did,” Harry said. “Maybe I can use this game at home next time.” Harry’s improved mood waned a bit at the thought of going back to his own, lonely house again. “I don’t suppose Kreacher would be very good at it, though.”

Neville chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose so. Tibby’s not so good at it, either. She always picks shadows that look like irons or pots and pans.”

Harry inched a bit closer to Neville’s side, enjoying the warmth and comfort of having another body close to him. Neville squeezed his arm a little tighter around his shoulder, reassuring him that he understood and didn’t mind.

“Would you mind...” Harry began, feeling a little foolish. “I mean, I know it might be a bit odd, but would you stay…for a while? It’s just… I don’t want to be alone right now.” He felt his cheeks flush with his admission, but knew that Neville wouldn’t think badly of him for it.

“Of course I don’t mind,” Neville said softly. “It’s nice to have someone close…sometimes.”

They settled down, pulling up covers and getting comfortable. Harry was immensely grateful when Neville kept his arm around his shoulders. He felt anchored by its reassuring weight.

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry said, yawning. He was surprised by his returning sleepiness. He was never able to fall back to sleep after a nightmare. He closed his eyes and took comfort in their combined warmth and the sound of Neville’s steady breathing beside him. “It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to just be with…Ginny stayed with me for a few weeks at first, but it was never the same between us after everything. I don’t blame her for leaving.”

“I understand, Harry,” Neville said quietly, his breath ruffling Harry’s hair. “I haven’t ever done this…I mean, sleep beside someone like this. It’s nice.” 

Harry could hear a touch of embarrassment at Neville’s admission. “Yeah, ‘tis nice,” Harry agreed. Before he could continue the conversation, however, he was asleep.

~~~*** ~~~***~~~

Harry was awoken suddenly when something dropped very unexpectedly across his midsection. Gasping in surprise, he turned his head to try and ascertain what it was that was now pinning him to the bed. Neville’s face was mere inches away, eyes closed, his breath huffing softly from between his lips in sleep. Harry realized belatedly that it was Neville’s arm, thrown carelessly across him, that had woken him. 

He took a moment to look…really look at his friend. He had seen Neville sleep before, of course. They had shared a dorm for six years, after all. But, there was something about being this close to another person, seeing them so completely unguarded, that took his breath away.

As Harry watched him sleep, he couldn’t help but compare how Neville looked now compared to that fateful day back at Hogwarts. He still had a small scar on his right cheek, barely noticeable unless one was to look for it. Part of Harry wanted to reach out and trace the small, pale line marring his face, but he was loath to do anything that would take away the look of absolute peace crossing his friend’s face.

Harry had been amazed by the fortitude and determination of Neville that day. To learn how much Neville had done…what he had gone through to fight that last year…Harry was still slightly in awe. Neville had always seemed so unassuming, but those who truly knew him, knew that he had an endless well of strength within him. Harry might have been the “boy who lived”, but without Neville, Harry wondered if that would have been the case in the end.

As Harry continued with his deep thoughts, Neville’s arm tightened across his middle, the fingers of his hand spreading wide against his side and pulling him closer. Harry’s breath hitched at the unexpected motion and he blushed as he felt his body begin to stir in response. 

Neville was clad in pyjama pants and an old t-shirt, but Harry was only wearing his boxers. The heat from Neville’s hand was radiating out in waves against his bare skin. Neville’s breath was ghosting against Harry’s shoulder, and with each susurration, Harry felt himself harden.

He tried to tell himself that it was simply because he was a teenager, that it had been months since he had had any sort of personal contact at all, but there was a niggling voice of doubt in the back of his head. He couldn’t ignore his previous desire to reach out and touch Neville, or the slowly building heat in the pit of his stomach.

Closing his eyes, he willed his mind to think of something…anything to stop the tide of arousal sweeping through him. Nothing was working. Just as he seized onto a truly heinous thought (McGonagall and Dumbledore in a compromising situation), Neville’s hand trailed downward, gripping onto his hip tightly. All thoughts immediately flew from Harry’s mind as his traitorous erection grew impossibly harder.

He opened his eyes once again and was confronted with Neville’s soft blue gaze meeting his own.

He was completely mortified.

Harry knew that it would only be a matter of seconds before Neville would realize his predicament and recoil harshly away. The only peace and happiness Harry had experienced in months…maybe longer…was about to end because of his complete inability to control himself.

The only sound in the room was Harry’s stilted, uneven breaths as he waited for the inevitable. He imagined that he must look a bit like a lunatic, lying tense and panic-stricken with the sheet tented impressively over his groin.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Neville whispered, surprising a gasp from him. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered back, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. 

“Don’t be,” Neville said, squeezing his hip. His hand moved slowly upwards, sliding across the bare skin of his abdomen, stopping over his pounding heart. 

As they stared at each other, Harry couldn’t help the trembling in his limbs. Part of him wanted to shift away, avert his eyes and run from this awkward situation. Another part of him wanted to fall against Neville, soaking up the physical contact and palpable comfort the other was so freely offering. 

Neville shifted slightly and Harry felt an answering hardness against his hip. His breath caught as awareness dawned, burning through the haze of his blinding arousal. This was all too new, too confusing, too much. 

“It’s okay,” Neville repeated, his voice soothing, even now.

“I’m scared,” Harry admitted, reaching up with his hand to grasp Neville’s, which was still resting on his chest.

“So am I,” Neville replied. He moved their clasped hands from Harry’s chest and placed them against his own, revealing a matching staccato beat.

That simple action somehow seemed to ease Harry’s panic and he felt a small, unsure smile slowly crawl across his face. Neville leaned his head closer, never taking his eyes from Harry’s until their lips met in a tentative, almost shy kiss.

Pulling back, Neville searched Harry’s eyes, looking nervous and uncertain for the first time that morning. “All right?” he asked.

Harry looked back at him, feeling his emotions swirling. He was nervous, yes. But he no longer felt confused. That small press of lips against his own was like a light being turned on in a darkened room. Neville was the one person in his life that had never levied unrealistic expectations on him, never asked for more than what he was willing to give, never asked for anything in return. Somehow, lying together like this and sharing each other seemed right, like finally coming home.

Harry leaned in, answering Neville’s hesitant question with the press of his lips. Neville let go of Harry’s hand and reached back around him, pulling him into an embrace as the kiss grew deeper. Turning into him, Harry moaned into Neville’s mouth as their erections rubbed together through the thin material of their pants. Any lingering doubt vanished the moment Neville thrust his hips forward, increasing the pressure and contact between them.

Harry pulled back to catch his breath, enjoying the flushed look of arousal on his friend’s (lover’s?) face. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, finally allowing himself to reach up to trace the scar on Neville’s cheek. Neville leaned into his hand, turning and planting a kiss against Harry’s palm.

“Yes. I want this…you…more than anything.”

Harry closed his eyes, letting Neville’s words wash over him. He had never felt such a rush of overwhelming joy before. Knowing that someone wanted him…Harry…he was completely undone. 

“I didn’t know before, but now I’m sure,” Harry said, drowning in the feeling of Neville’s arms wrapped around him. “This feels right, doesn’t it?” Harry asked.

“Like coming home,” Neville answered, renewing their kiss. 

Harry faltered for a moment at hearing his own thoughts echoed in Neville’s reply, but recovered quickly, falling back into the feel of Neville’s lips and tongue caressing his as his hands burned a path across his back, moving lower to grasp at his arse.

Harry returned the favor, slipping his hands under Neville’s shirt before moving down and pushing his bottoms lower. Neville arched forward, moaning, “Yes,” against Harry’s lips. Harry felt his boxers being pulled down and wriggled unashamedly to assist in their removal. Neville broke away to tear his shirt off and then kicked his own pants off. Once they were both completely naked, they paused, panting heavily as they eyed each other.

“I have no idea what to do now,” Harry admitted. 

“I think we’ll figure it out,” Neville replied as his eyes hungrily travelled across Harry’s body. Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around Harry again, pulling and turning until he was on his back, Harry lying completely atop him. 

Harry wasted no time, reclaiming Neville’s mouth as he reveled in the feel of their heated skin sliding against each other. Neville’s strong, calloused hands roamed everywhere, tearing gasps and moans from Harry’s throat. Harry buried his head against Neville’s neck, kissing and nipping at his pulse point. He found a particularly sensitive spot and smiled as Neville moaned his approval.

They were burning alive, but Harry didn’t care. He’d never felt so completely undone before, hanging tortuously over the precipice. He wanted to fall desperately, but at the same time, never wanted this feeling of pure driving need to end. Neville arched upwards, a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl falling from his lips as he pulsed against Harry. That amazing sound and the hot, sticky evidence of Neville’s pleasure striking his skin was the final push Harry needed. He cried out, his body taut as his climax exploded, the waves travelling across every nerve ending in his body. 

He fell forward, only to be caught and cradled tightly. In that moment, something broke inside of him and he finally let loose all of the emotions he had kept locked away for so long. He was completely unable to stop the torrent of tears that fell as he released the dam of sadness, disappointment, fear, loneliness…he was ripped apart as it all poured out from him.

Neville held him tightly, whispering words of comfort and understanding as Harry was purged. Harry had no idea how long it went on, but after a time, his tears slowed and then stopped and he was still safe and whole in Neville’s arms. He was embarrassed at his outburst, but felt cleaner than he could ever remember feeling before.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, soaking up the feelings of safety and warmth Neville provided. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Neville replied hoarsely. Harry looked up and saw that Neville had been crying right along with him. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, reaching up to wipe away the last of Neville’s tears.

“I am now,” he replied, “You?”

“Yeah, I reckon,” Harry said. “Well, that was all rather cathartic.”

Neville snorted in amusement before leaning in and placing a soft kiss against Harry’s lips. “I suppose we both needed that.”

“The shag or the tears?” Harry asked with a wry smile. 

“Both,” Neville answered with a grin of his own. “You’ll stay, won’t you?” he asked timidly. “I mean, if you’d like to.”

“Are you sure you want the media attention again? It’s bound to be a bloody nightmare once the press gets hold of it,” Harry said, frowning at the thought.

“We’ll work it out. We can enact the Fidelius charm if you want…I’m sure Mr. Weasley would agree to be the Secret Keeper again. You can even bring that odd House-elf of yours.”

Harry let his hand drift across Neville’s shoulders, brushing the purpling bruise he had left on his collar bone. “If you want to try, there’s nothing I’d like more,” Harry said without hesitation. 

“Brilliant,” Neville said with a wide smile. 

They settled against each other, Harry tucking his head under Neville’s chin. He felt warm, safe, and loved as Neville pulled the blankets up around them. He felt Neville drop a kiss onto his head as sleep tugged at him. 

There would be a lot to do and discuss soon, but for now, Harry was happy to drift off to sleep, one word echoing through his mind.

“Home.”

_**A/N: The Shadow Game doesn't belong to me. I borrowed it from a lovely film called "Little Man Tate". Make an author smile...leave a review today!** _


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